Lower

I watched the bugger

But for lack of nothing more

It wasn’t for the sake of Providence

I was not a crusader of empiricism

I watched because watching was, at the time, living

He looked back over his shoulder a few times

Beard, coarse, brow, terse

I saw a fire in his eyes dimmed by workdays

Working in the jungle of monotony

Shoveling in a pseudo-stage inundated with

Bad actors

You see, I realized very long ago that we are all bad actors

We masquerade as humans but

Really, quite truly, we are nothing but pale-faced dogs

Wan from years of huddling in the cusp of “innovation”

Sigh

I wait

As his footsteps deplete the sidewalk I resume

My approach is silent, steady, still

A grey hat crowns his grimy hair, and I can see

I can see everything

With the insight of witnessing a man’s soul

I’m not able to pierce beyond the cuts in his clothing

Breath, breath, stop

His footsteps end where my path lies

Too eager to realize that I follow with an earnestness

Common human ignorance, but am I not an average john?

He turns to me with the roughness of a plough-man

The acrimonious ferocity of a chained man struggling

A man whose entire life was decided by men like me

I sighed and turned around